Reunions

Days before, kitchens bustled with moms, daughters, and granddaughters preparing favored dishes.  Baking cakes and pies, breaking beans and shelling peas to boil with seasonings of fat and salt, frying chicken, making biscuits, and the obligatory house wines of the south – gallons of sweet tea and tart lemonade.  Mounds of potato salad, coleslaw, and gelatin dishes crowded the refrigerator before suppertime on Saturday night.  Tablecloths ironed, baskets and bowls marked, and boxes for careful placement of goodies for transport, sat ready to receive their bounty on Sunday.

Meeting at the designated site, Dads, sons, and grandsons prepared for the coming festival.  Mowing the fields, laying out the horseshoe pits, and setting up bases for softball, nets for volleyball and gathering lawn furniture to shaded patios, they worked companionably toward a unified goal.  Pick-up trucks backed in loaded down with tables and additional seating for arrangement.  Dominating Friday and Saturday, trimming, sweeping, and set-up competed with laughter and the hammering of stakes to mark off 'safe zones' for the family to congregate.  

The first Sunday in June marked the reunion.  Rotating location yearly, we gathered at the home of one of the elders to spend a day together.  After church, carloads of cousins and distant relatives trekked to reacquaint with family, sharing life events in celebration with fun and agreeable conflict of opinions on raising crops or kids.  The latest political climate often competed with the weather discussions.  Babies passed around eager arms for feeding and burping while mothers organized tables groaning with dishes from time honored family recipes.  Kids raced and squealed with delight in anticipation of feasting while teens participated in chores of ‘fetch and carry’ to help where needed.  At the prescribed moment, heads bowed for blessing the bounty before us of food, faith, and family.

Sated, we settled in for an afternoon of games.  Rivalries from previous years met in friendly matches of organized chaos.  Laughter and the whack of balls in croquet competed with thumps of softballs hitting mitts and shouts of umpire calls.  By mid-afternoon, the younger children down for naps on pallets and in playpens under the watchful eyes of teenagers, the rest of us gathered around the piano.  Voices lifted in song with spiritual abandon for hours, harmonizing in melodies pure and sweet the hymns we so loved.  A late afternoon of sweets and beverages capped the day of strengthening ties with family and God.  

All hands pitched in for clean up.  Washing dishes in tubs set up near the tables and packing up leftovers fell to the matriarchs.  Bagging trash for hauling away and loading up the trucks with borrowed equipment for return to the owners completed by the 'men-folk'.  Throughout the activities, good spirited ribbing and pearls of wisdom shared in a teaching, loving manner, prepared the next generation for continuing the wonderful traditions enjoyed during the day.  Tired, happy, celebrated, and loved, we returned to our resemblance of normal for another year.

Those times of welcoming new family through birth and marriage, fondly recalling those passing away in the previous year, and solidifying ties that extended beyond immediate household members, are treasured reminders of what I can expect someday.  My eternal family grows with the blood of Christ embracing brothers and sisters from around the world.  When we have all crossed the river to meet again at a feast like none we can imagine, hosted by Jesus, we will be attending the ultimate family gathering.  With glorious celebration and joyous reunion for an eternity of peace, praise, and worship, we will all be together at last.  Will I see you there?

Then the angel said to me, “Write: ‘Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb!’”  And he added, “These are the true words of God.”  Revelation 19:9 (NIV)  

Check Your Pockets

Payday was Friday, but here it was Tuesday and I had all of two bucks in loose change to my name.  I had checks in the checkbook but in balancing that night, I found I missed recording a $25 transaction.  A fifty-buck shortage, less than ½ a tank of gas and needing at least $5 worth to get me to work for the rest of the week, I decided to get creative.  Sometimes I work out many problems through cooking.  I wandered into the small, galley style kitchen to check supplies.

I had one slightly mushy and sprouting potato, a ¼ bag of dried pintos, 2 eggs, and a small jar of peanut butter in the pantry.  ‘Who are you kidding?  You couldn’t buy groceries last week, remember?’  Nothing worth mixing into some scrumptious creation, I plopped down at the table to think through what I could do beyond some beans and fried taters for a meal.  Okay, cook up the eggs for tonight and put the beans in water to soak for tomorrow's supper.  Eat peanut butter from a spoon for lunch over the next few days.  Though not optimal, at least I now had a plan.

Maybe I should swallow my pride for a meal.  Perhaps call on some family for a loan to get me through the week.  Too stubborn to give in and admit I needed help, I rapidly shook off that notion thinking 'there has to be a way to manage this without being the poor relation.'  Hungry, embarrassed at being broke, and scared, I sat down in the floor, crying while rocking back and forth.

This little ‘woe-is-me’ tantrum lasted for a bit until I realized I forgot to send out invitations to the party.  Time to quit sniveling and figure out a plan for transportation, I dried my eyes and pulled in the sobs to quiet tears as I searched for a solution.  I could call a friend who worked nearby.  Maybe get rides with him promising to give him gas money or take him to dinner on Friday.  Okay, not a close friend and he would read into that request more than I intended, but it might be my only option.  As my mind spun in dark directions I thought, ‘I’ll handle it if I have to.’

Still crying but knowing I required more than a good blow to clear my head, a nippy fall evening beckoned me for a walk.  “Lord, please, just help me get through this week,” I muttered.  I grabbed a jacket I had not worn in months, locked up the apartment, and stepped into the hall.  Realizing I needed to grab a tissue for those leaky eyes and runny nose, I went back inside.  When I stuffed them in my jacket pocket, I felt a piece of paper crinkle against the softness of the tissues.  Curious I pulled it out.

Again, I collapsed in the floor with a flood of tears.  Surprise and joy blossomed as I unfolded a twenty-dollar bill.  “Thank You Lord,” I cried out repeatedly as I laughed hysterically.  Anyone walking down the hall would have thought I lost my mind but frankly, I cared not one bit for what might go through the minds of neighbors.  I could eat and get to work for the rest of the week!

Most of us have been in a similar spot at some point in time.  When we realize we have too much week remaining for the money in our pockets.  Being prideful folk, we shy away from asking for help, perhaps robbing someone at the opportunity of a blessing.  We determine we will manage on our own or just wallow around in sorrow for a while.  We rant and rail at fates, blame ourselves, or others, for our situation.  We fall into the trap of thinking we deserve nothing better.  We fail to remember we should not worry; we should simply ask, for He will take care of our needs.

“Whatever you ask for in prayer with faith, you will receive.”  Matthew 21:22

5 More Miles

My first car cost all of $400.00.  A drab olive-green Falcon almost ten years old at the time, it ran and gave me freedom to meet up with friends.  Stretching my independence, I moved out from home to my first apartment, a rent comparable efficiency near a college campus.  One day the car would not crank.  I checked everything I knew to look for-battery and cables, connected and not corroded.  Water in the radiator?  Yes, as was antifreeze.  Oil registering on the dipstick as full?  Yep and looked clean.  Gas?  Gauge showed I still had a ¼ tank before empty.  Everything seemed fine.  I called Daddy who rescued me.

It happened again a couple of weeks later.  He came with a gas can, followed me to the station, and filled up the car for me telling me to forget the gauge, just keep gas in it.  I calculated miles per gallon but not being a math major, it happened again. Patience with my ‘car troubles’ worn thin after several times, Daddy asked me how much gas I had in the thing.  “At least enough for five more miles,” got a frustrated sigh but he came to take care of me.  My family still gets mileage from that response.

How often do we start out with a full tank each morning only to run out before the day ends?  Whether it is energy, motivation, resolve, kindness, patience, or joy, we fall short of maintaining throughout the day.  A series of circumstances depleting our reserves a bit at a time taking more than we prepare to give leaves us lacking, or wanting.  Sometimes we dissolve into a pool of regret, rejection, frustration, or just simple exhaustion.  What should we do when we run out of power?  Whom should we call when we cannot move another step?  Where do we turn when we need refuge?  When we think we cannot go on?  No matter what brought us to that point, call our Father.  He will rescue us every time.  He will recharge us. He will get us those five miles if we simply ask.

Psalm 46:1 God is our refuge and strength.  A very present help in trouble.

Nice to Meet You

Hello and Welcome to Collision Chronicles. 

The goal of this site is to provide encouragement for our faith walk.  We all have experiences from our past affecting our current situation, even our future.  We have moments of exuberance and tragedy, comedic interludes and intense drama all combined to flow into who we are now.  Although we may not realize it at the time, every situation has a human component and a spiritual one.  Our frail, finite minds connect with the divine grace and mercy of our Lord culminating in a beautiful collision.  I pray in sharing stories from my life, we expect to see God’s hand at work in astounding ways. 

Just to be clear here, I am not a Bible scholar, teacher, psychologist, theologian, or prophecy major.  I am not an archaeologist, journalist, interpreter, entertainer, or worship leader.  I am a student of God’s word seeking to follow the call He has given me to write for His glory.  In my obedience, I pray you seek to learn more too.  Though there are many sources to assist you, I have included a link to our church where you can find an archive of verse-by-verse, book-by-book teachings of the Bible.  I urge you to use this resource to answer questions you may have about God.

The next post will begin the sharing of experiences where you may laugh, or cry, or roll your eyes but I look trust we will connect soon.  May God bless you abundantly until we meet again.